I open my mouth to tell my dad to leave him alone.
But he continues, “Lo’s a college dropout, has failed at every athletic sport he’s ever tried.” My blood runs cold, and Lily suddenly clutches my hand, trying to comfort me. I can’t move. “He’s not smart or strong. Frankly, he’s a goddamn liability. So what use is he to you?” Through all these statements, I want to believe my dad is trying to protect me from Connor. Right? Like Ryke once did.
Connor is a user, he’s saying.
My brows knot. Yeah, I know this about Connor.
“He’s my best friend,” Connor says without a beat. “I enjoy his company.”
“Do you?” My dad glares, one that could shrivel a man.
Connor never backs down. “I know what you’re implying, and you should stop.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Yes,” Connor says, pokerfaced. Honestly, it’s terrifying—not being able to see his emotions.
“I’m not here to ruin you, Connor, but if you stand in my way, I will. Unlike you, I’m a man with very little to lose.”
“Jonathan,” Rose suddenly says, her eyes fiery. And it’s like my dad just recognizes her sitting right there. “You bring my husband down, you bring me down. We’re staying right here.” She might as well have said: we’re in the inner f**king circle, bitch. No one is pushing us out.
My dad grinds his teeth in distaste.
Connor won this.
Rose is related to Greg Calloway. Greg is Jonathan’s best friend. As a result, he’d never hurt Rose.
His eyes flicker up to Connor. “You aligned yourself f**king well. If I had a glass of bourbon, I’d cheers to you.”
“I’m glad you don’t,” Connor says. I wait for him to add a smartass response, but he holds back this time. Or maybe it’s the literal truth. I’ll never know. With Connor, it’s hard to discern these things unless you’re in his head.
Ryke stays standing with Connor, and my dad addresses the entire room, though his gaze lands on me and Lil the most. He starts pacing in front of the fireplace. His hands now on his hips. Then on the back of his neck. He rubs his fingers together like he’s missing his glass of liquor.
My thoughts scramble. I just don’t see what this could be about—
“You four.” He suddenly stops pacing and motions between Ryke, Daisy, Lily and me, appraising us. Like he’s tallying our worth. When his eyes land on me, they actually redden. “One of you needs to grow the f**k up. I don’t care which one of you it is, but it has to happen.”
A noise between pain and laughter catches my throat. “What are you even talking about?”
My dad says, “Open your goddamn ears, Loren.”
I grimace. “Right, I don’t understand anything. Because I’m not smart enough or strong enough, because I can’t hit a homerun or make a touchdown, I can’t comprehend sentences and words.” I give him a half-smile that hurts my face.
“Clearly you’re not stupid. You just like being a pain in my ass.” His broad shoulders lock, and he fixes his suit and checks his watch. Like he’s running out of time. He addresses the four of us again. “In the media, you all are represented about equally heinously. Now I think you’re all beautiful little shits, but my opinion really doesn’t matter.” He digs into his pocket and pulls out a creased paper with coffee stains.
The only one who doesn’t look confused is my dad—the one with all the answers.
“There are some people whose opinions do matter.” He reads off the paper. “In a group of fourteen—ten men and four women, average age forty-two—every single goddamn female found Ryke Meadows, my eldest son, vulgar, aggressive, threatening, and I quote, ‘a hazard to children everywhere.’”
“What the f**k are you reading?” Ryke asks.
Our dad flashes the paper at us, and instead of typed sentences, all I see are pen scribbles. “My notes,” he clarifies. “Five men labeled you as a work-in-progress. The other five saw no silver lining with you. And a seventy-five-year-old said, I quote, ‘if he spits in the face of a cameraman, what’s to say he wouldn’t spit in our faces?’ A wise statement.”
My pulse is racing. I keep shaking my head.
No one interrupts him. He focuses now on my brother’s girlfriend, Lily’s little sister, someone who I wish was far away from my dad. “Daisy Calloway, daughter of a respected entrepreneur. Every female said you’re too young, too immature, and too reckless. The men, however, found you to be charming, alluring, and presentable.” My dad looks up from the paper. “I don’t take stock in their opinions since they were swayed by their dicks.”
Daisy’s mouth falls.
Ryke is fuming, steam practically rising off his skin.
I’m too stunned and caught off guard. I scratch the back of my neck that heats.
Before my brother actually charges forward—which is nearing a possibility—our dad raises his hands in defense. “Moving on to Lily Calloway.” Shit. I clasp Lily’s knee beneath the blanket. She’s unmoving.
“You don’t need to read what the public thinks of her,” I snap at him. “She gets it.” We’ve all heard everything before.
He pushes his finger at the paper. “These fourteen people aren’t the entire public. It’s a fraction, and they’re important.” He continues reading from his notes, “Lily Calloway has sexual relations with two of my sons at once—as stated by five of fourteen. The women like that you’re pregnant, but they find you shy, impersonal and awkward on camera. Three men appeared to admire your Princeton undergraduate degree, while the rest thought it was insignificant. One woman said, and I quote, ‘she is the most popular Calloway but also the most unpopular’ which is ridiculous but true.”
Lily has the most negative press, but as a couple, we have the biggest fanbase because of the way Princesses of Philly edited us. So I get that comment. What I don’t understand is the point to this whole charade.
My father suddenly spins to me. I freeze as he says, “Loren Hale, my second-born son…” His shoulders slacken, and when his eyes flicker to mine, I see more admiration in them, more love. “…all fourteen were first scared to criticize you in front of me, but I goaded them into doing it.”
“Wait,” I frown. “You know these people, personally?” For some reason, I thought they were a random test group. Like someone asked pedestrians on the street their opinions about us.
“Of course I do,” he says. “All fourteen make up the Board of Directors for Hale Co.”
I stare off, suddenly realizing what this may be about. No, it can’t…
He continues while my head rolls, “Loren Hale is not as big of a hothead as Ryke Meadows…They were really going easy on you at first.” He skims the paper. “The majority found you to be ‘angry-looking’ which is a stupid little adjective. The women thought you came across thoughtful and caring towards your girlfriend, but they were worried if you were a team player. You are generally sympathetic in the media, being my bastard child, though you appear standoffish when it concerns Hale Co.—which worries all of them. It’s why I’m here.”
His eyes flit up to mine again.
And the answer that we’ve all wanted is about to finally come.